such a time--yes; but one thing might save
your life.'

"`What is that?' cried the poor fellow eagerly; and he told him as
gently as he could of the great operation, expecting to see the patient
shudder and turn faint.

"`Well,' he said, when the monk had ended, `why don't you do it?'

"`But would you rather suffer that--would you run the risk?'

"`Am I not a man?' said the poor fellow calmly. `Yes: life is very
sweet, and I would bear any pain that I might live.'

"That settled the matter, and the monk went out of the cell to shut
himself up in his own and pray for the space of two hours, and the old
monks said that it was all talk, and that he had given up his horrible
idea; but the prior knew better, and he was not a bit surprised to see
Anselm coming out of his cell looking brave, and calm, and cool.

"Then he took a bottle of plant juice that he knew helped to stop
bleeding, and he got ready his bandages, and his keenest knives, and his
saw, and a bowl of water, and then he thought for a bit, and ended by
asking the monks which of them would help him, but they all shrank away
and turned pale, all but the prior, who said he would help, and then
they went into the poor fellow's cell."

Old Brownsmith stopped here, and kept on stroking one of the cats for
such a long time, beginning at the tip of his nose and going right on to
the end of his tail, that I grew impatient.

"And did he perform the operation?" I said eagerly.

"Yes, bravely and well, but of course very clumsily for want of
experience. He cut off the leg, Grant, right above where the bone was
splintered, and all the terrible irritation was going on."

"And the poor fellow died after all?" I said.

"No, he did not, my lad; it left him terribly weak and he was very low
for some days, but he began to mend from the very first, and I suppose
when he grew well and strong he had to make himself a wooden leg or else
to go about with a crutch. About that I know nothing. There was the
poor fellow dying, and there was a gardener who knew that if the broken
place were cut Nature would heal it up; for Nature likes to be helped
sometimes, my boy, and she is waiting for you now."

"Yes, sir, I'll do it directly," I said, glancing at the stump I had
sawn off, and thinking about the swineherd's leg, and half-wondering
that it did not bleed; "but tell me, please, is all that true?"

"I'm afraid not, Grant," he said smiling; "but it is my idea--my theory